The Other Divination Teacher
by The Centaur Ground
Summary: In an alternative universe the centaurs agreed to send one of their number to take Divination classes. His approach to the job was different to that which Firenze adopted.
1. Chapter 1

**Lesson One**

"I thought you'd given up Divination, Hermione," said Parvati, smirking.

It was two days after the sacking of Professor Trelawney. The first lesson of the morning was Divination, with the centaur Tarahin, and Harry and Ron were making their way to classroom eleven among a straggle of other people who were heading in that direction. Hermione was with them. As she had recently made a dramatic departure from Professor Trelawney's class her presence was remarkable, and Parvati duly remarked upon it.

"I've got a free period," responded Hermione coolly. "And I'm curious."

"You've not got the hots for our gorgeous new teacher?" teased Lavender.

"I most certainly have not. I know some girls are fond of horses, but I've never been one of them."

"He's not a horse, he's a centaur!" Parvati sounded shocked.

"He's a horse where it matters," Hermione pointed out. "I meant, he's got four legs," she added, exasperated, as the other girls giggled.

"I've heard that that doesn't stop them _romancing_ people," Lavender volunteered, with a meaningful grin.

"Huh!" A disdainful sniff from Hermione. "If this one tries romancing anybody, Professor Dumbledore will soon put a stop to it."

That was unarguable. Lavender pulled a face, and she and Parvati continued their conversation between themselves.

"They don't, do they?" Ron was incredulous; the centaurs' reputation was news to him. "I mean, how could they? They're the wrong shape." He stared unseeing into the distance, his imagination busy, but an elbow in the ribs from Hermione swiftly brought him back to the real world. "Ow!"

"Apparently they're sufficiently the right shape, according to the legends," she said darkly.

"Blimey." He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I thought you just went to the library to look up magical stuff, not that sort of thing. Now I know why you're in there every spare hour of the day."

"Remind me to show you where the library is, someday, Ronald Weasley. You might find it enlightening. All those books, with information in them."

"Any pictures?"

"There's a tip for the education authorities. How to get boys interested in libraries: put rude pictures in the books." Hermione exercised her talent for sarcasm again.

"I wonder how Dumbledore persuaded him to teach," Harry mused aloud. "I got the impression that centaurs don't like humans much."

"Professor Dumbledore seems to get on well with all kinds of people. It wouldn't be surprising if some of the centaurs were willing to oblige him occasionally. – Not in that kind of way!" she added disdainfully, hearing Ron snigger. "Put your libido away, for goodness' sake, before your imagination goes critical and explodes."

"They don't seem to me to be very _domesticated_, if you see what I mean," persisted Harry. "They're fine in forests, but I just can't imagine them being at home in a place like Hogwarts. It'll be odd seeing someone like Tarahin in a classroom, I know that much."

Given his standard of achievement in Divination classes so far, it is not surprising that Harry's prediction was proved wrong. This owed nothing to any powers of adapting to human surroundings that Tarahin might have possessed, however, and everything to the fact that Professor Dumbledore had anticipated the difficulty and had acted to forestall it.

When they entered the classroom, at the heels of Lavender and Parvati, Harry and his friends discovered than an enchantment had been placed upon it. It had the appearance of a ruin, one which nature is busily reclaiming for itself. The walls to left and right were little more than ragged lines of lichened moss-grown stone; while that at the far end of the room, upon which a blackboard usually hung, had become a mere hump in the ground, allowing an uninterrupted view into what appeared to be the depths of a forest. The wall behind them still stood – it had to, as it contained the doorway through which they had just passed – but it, too, gave the impression of dereliction, and it was in the grasp of several species of invasive climbing plant. There was no ceiling, merely an intermeshing formed by the branches of several aggressively stout and ancient trees. As a result the room was full of slanting shafts of soft, dappled, green light.

"What the – ?" Harry had expected to see the old, dull classroom. Finding himself in this new, transformed, classroom he gazed around, stunned.

"Wow!" Ron was equally impressed.

The students who had already arrived were sitting on the grassy floor with their backs resting against tree stumps or mossy lumps of fallen stone. Most had their arms wrapped around their knees or folded tightly across their chests, and they all seemed to be rather nervous.

In the middle of the ruined room, where there was no scattering of tumbled stonework, stood the centaur, Tarahin.

He was tall, around nine feet in height was Harry's guess, and he was lean but not especially muscular. Despite Lavender's description he was not exactly handsome: he was, however, attractive-looking in a rugged, son-of-toil way, and there was no denying the masculinity of him. He was also naked, though it was the unselfconscious nakedness of someone for whom nudity is a natural state. His head-hair was black, and fell in curls to his shoulders. By contrast his horse-parts were white, apart from a faint dappling on his haunches. Hazel eyes gazed out of a slightly thin face, studying each newcomer briefly before moving on to the next. His expression was serious, but not forbidding, and he gave the impression of being effortlessly self-possessed. Seeing him, Lavender breathed an aside to Parvati. If he heard what she said – and centaurs have excellent hearing – he gave no sign of having done so. Parvati certainly heard it, and had to cover her mouth with a hasty hand in order to conceal a grin.

With a graceful sweep of his arm Tarahin indicated to the latest arrivals that they should sit on the forest floor in front of him, among the other students. They did so.

The centaur waited, impassive, until the last member of the class had entered the room, which they did moments later. Then, solemn-faced, he looked around the half-circle of pupils and addressed them.

"Young Daughters of Eve. Young Sons of Adam," he said, in a voice that was quiet but clear. "Be-ye welcome. I take it that this is your full complement, and that every among ye that is set to arrive has arrived. – Let any among ye that is yet absent raise a hand." He looked around enquiringly, but, perhaps unsurprisingly, no hands were raised. The students regarded him, nonplussed. Apparently satisfied that there were no absentees he continued, in the same tones as before.

"I am Tarahin, Pettar's son, sprung from the belly of Phadeshah. Albus Dumbledore has asked of me that I supply ye with wisdoms regarding the art of Divination, that ye may read the signs that times provide and gaze into the futures with a more perceptive eye. As a first step, I would to know your names. – Young Daughter?" He turned his head slightly and regarded the girl at the extreme left of the semi-circle enquiringly.

"Um. I'm Lisa, sir. – Lisa Turpin," she responded politely.

"Lisa Turpin. Well met." He accompanied the salutation with a grave slant of his head, and turned his attention to the next member of the class in the line. "And thee, young Son?"

"I'm Dean Thomas, sir." Dean stared, wide-eyed, and asked, "Are you really a centaur?"

"No, Dean Thomas. I am a minotaur, but today is my day off." The words were evenly spoken and the centaur remained straight of face. The class stared at him, again unsure whether he was joking or not.

"I mean – I didn't think centaurs existed. I thought they were just imaginary. You're not things that Hagrid's bred, like the thestrals, are you?" Dean ploughed on, with more enthusiasm than diplomacy. Tarahin's left eyebrow rose by a fraction of an inch. As gestures go it was minimal, but somehow it was more alarming than an explosion of ill-temper would have been. Dean saw it, interpreted it, and hurriedly apologized. "I didn't mean to – I'm sorry, sir. I shouldn't have said that. It was – rude."

Another slant of the centaur's head signified that the apology had been accepted. "Experience has taught we Childer of the Forest that the greater the distance there is between we and ye Two-legs, the less the even tenor of our lives is disturbed. Thus we seek to maintain that distance. The fact that in the seeing of the non-magical among ye we have passed from the realms of reality into those of myth suits our mind high well. – Butyet, Dean Thomas, given your interest in my kind, for an extra homework you shall research among your myths for the names of three of us, and the names of their principal mates," he said, in the same level voice, apparently seeing fit to issue a practical rebuke for Dean's question. "You shall set those names before me at the start of our next lesson."

"Yes, sir." Somehow Dean had the feeling that he had got off lightly.

"If you would note the _species_ of those mates, in addition, that would be helpful."

"The – the _species_ of them, sir?"

"The species, Dean Thomas. I would also urge you not to take up all the space in the library, as it may well be required by others among your class who feel an urge to enquire into the origins and nature of we Sons and Daughters of the Forest. – Well met, in any kind. – Young son?"

"Er. – I'm Anthony Goldstein, sir. – Is this place real, sir? I mean, it used to be a classroom, and now it's kind of like the forest." Anthony stared as, croaking noisily, a large shabby dark-coloured bird flew past in the middle distance.

"It is real, Anthony Goldstein. And it is the classroom, and it is the forest."

"I – I don't see how it can be both, sir."

"Happen nay. Reality is more complex, and less obliging, than most of ye humans reckon it to be. Such given, a word of warning is perhaps advisable. Here, in the space enclosed by these walls, the writ of Albums Dumbledore runs, and ye are earnest seekers after knowledge, devout worshippers at the altar of wisdom, eager sucklers at the teat of understanding. Beyond this space –" he pointed to where the end wall of the classroom should have been – "ye are but snacks on sticks. Well that ye remember such. – Well met, Anthony Goldstein, be it or nay. Young daughter?"

One by one the members of the class gave their names. Tarahin studied them as they did so, repeated each name solemnly, and bade them 'Well met'. To Harry's surprise, but also to his relief, he treated him in exactly the same way as he had treated everybody else: if he recognized Harry's name he gave no indication of that fact.

"I'm surprised that you're here, sir," said Harry candidly, after having responded to the centaur's greeting with a polite 'Thank you.'

"It is an example of the unfathomable twistings of circumstance, Harry Potter; of the ways in which minor events have major consequences," was Tarahin's solemn reply. "Longwhiles since, my mother had naught better to do of an eve, and my sire could not run swift enough to escape from her. One thing followed another, and lo! I find myself not only existing but also faced with the task of instilling wisdom into the heads of a herd of Two-leg foals – a task which, in terms of futility, is widely reckoned to be on a par with beating marshmallow nails into granite using a hammer of air."

"I mean," Harry corrected himself quickly, above one or two nervous chuckles, "you said yourself that centaurs don't have much to do with humans. But here you are."

"Here I am, and no gainsay." A philosophical flick of the tail from Tarahin. "See-ye: Albus Dumbledore has gained the respect of many among my brethren and sistren. He sent an emissary to our leaders, asking if they might see their way open to greatly oblige him by providing one of our number to teach Divination at Hogwarts, on a short-term temporary basis. After much discussion it was decided that we would accede to his request. Names were put forward of folk who were considered marginally less likely than others to lust after the existing staff, carry off any of the students, or slay and eat those who failed to pay sufficient attention in class. Those names were written down and placed into a cloth bag. Fate had it that my name was the one which was drawn out."

"You were the lucky one, sir?"

The centaur's eyebrow arched slightly, as if in pained surprise. "That is one way of looking at it, Harry Potter; such I shall grant you. – Young daughter?" And he turned his attention to Hermione.

The introductions, inevitably, took some little time.

"We know each other," Tarahin said, when the last name had been given and the final greeting made. "It is well. Now we may set our hoofs to the path of learning. This firsting shall take a short while to prepare. Well that ye watch, and that ye exercise your capacities for patience and silence the while ye do so." He glanced behind him, raised his right arm and crooked a finger.

A wooden table, sturdy and ancient, shimmered into being in the glade. In the middle of the table was a solid-looking box made of a dark wood. There were brass panels let into the side of the box, and they were covered with mysterious marks that were presumably some sort of magical inscription. To the left of the box was an array of large coloured-glass bottles with spray attachments. To the right was a small heap of leatherwear. With another glance Tarahin estimated the distance between the table and the pupils. "It might be safer an ye were to move back a body's length," was his verdict.

The class got up, and retreated with a measure of alacrity.

"Will this do, sir?" asked Susan Bones.

"That should suffice." The centaur nodded. When the pupils were sitting in their new places he turned to face the box. He lifted his hands, closed his eyes, and intoned, "Dini... Hiumus... Tabiki."

"I've never heard that spell before," whispered Ron.

"Centaur magic is different from human magic," Hermione told him, gazing at the box to see if anything happened. "Professor Binns mentioned it in our History of Magic classes. He wasn't very complimentary about it, mind you. – Shush now!"

For Tarahin was moving. He opened his eyes, lowered his hands and stepped over to the table, treading lightly and slowly. He picked up the largest piece of leatherwear, which turned out to be an apron. Carefully, not looking away from the box for longer than a fraction of a second, he fastened the apron about himself so that it covered as much of the front of his upper body and legs as possible. The middle sized piece was a hood; it came complete with a glass panel at the front, through which the wearer could see. Again paying as much attention to the box as possible, he put the hood on. The last two pieces of leather were sleeved gauntlets. He slipped them on to his hands, checked to see that as much of his flesh was covered as was possible, and nodded satisfaction.

"At that distance," he said to the class, "Ye should be in no danger. Thus, we step."

Setting his hoofs to the ground with the utmost delicacy he made his way behind the table. He reached out and, fraction of an inch by fraction of an inch, lifted the lid from the box. When it was clear he paused for a few moments, as if checking whether something would emerge. Nothing did. Still moving slowly, he placed the lid on the table. When it was in position he picked up a green glass bottle, pointed the nozzle of its spray attachment at it, and squeezed the bulb twice, sending mists of clear liquid over its surface. He then directed the spray into the box, squeezing even more delicately than he had done when dealing with the lid. Again, nothing happened. He put the green bottle down, picked up a blue one, and repeated the process; with the same result.

"It is well," he said, as much to himself as to the class. Satisfied, he moved to the side of the table. He took several measured steps backwards to what he apparently considered a safe distance, and removed the protective leatherwear. He then raised his hands and repeated his incantation, in the same grave tones that he had used before, "Dini... Hiumus... Tabiki." That done, he made a slow gesture of lifting. In response a rectangular silver container drifted upwards out of the box. It was ornate, and its sides were covered with the same kind of writing that the class had seen on the brass panels. Guided by the slightest of movements of his fingers it eased forwards and then sank down to rest upon the table.

"Wow." There was a general murmur from the class. Some people were impressed, others were uneasy.

"What is it, sir?" ventured Seamus, craning his head to get a better view.

The centaur raised a forefinger in mild rebuke. "What it is, Seamus Finnigan, shall shortly be revealed. For now, I require of ye your silence. This next is a whit delicate, and it demands my full attention."

"Right, sir. Sorry."

Tarahin gazed at the silver container, his brows faintly lined with concentration. A crooking of one of his fingers, and a clasp at the front side of it, near the base, opened with a click. Three more crookings, and clasps on the other three sides were loosed. He took a deep breath, making his dappled flanks heave, and swished his tail nervously. "Now for the lasting," he said quietly. "Dini... Hiumus... Tabiki."

The incantation, and the graceful lifting of his hands which accompanied it, caused the upper part of the container to rise, leaving its base behind and its contents open to view. Other gestures moved it out of the way and caused it to settle down on to the table. The class ignored it, concentrating instead upon the substance which its removal had left open to view. They saw a roughly-cut slab of brown stuff. It looked innocent enough, but they regarded it with great suspicion.

"Any idea what it is, Hermione?" Harry risked a murmur.

Hermione shook her head, and responded in similar tones. "It could be anything. It must be something _dark_ or he wouldn't go to all that bother. I wonder if Professor Dumbledore knows about this. I've made a note of that spell, anyway, just in case."

A word from Tarahin ended her speculations. "At this point in the lesson," he said, looking from face to face, "we require a volunteer, which shall be Morag MacDougal. Be-stood-you, Morag MacDougal."

"Me, sir?" Morag's voice was apprehensive. She stared at him.

"You, Morag MacDougal," he confirmed.

"But I dinnae volunteer for anything."

"My task is to instruct ye in the ways of Divination, Morag MacDougal, not to fritter away your lesson time by debating technicalities. Be-stood-you."

Reluctantly Morag stood up.

"The purpose of what we are about to do," continued Tarahin, addressing the class generally, "is to ascertain if any among ye have an aptitude for seeing into the future. To that end, ye shall open your Divination notebooks and inscribe within them what ye think shall befall the person who touches that material yonder. The possibilities are many, so it is unlikely that any among ye shall be exactly correct. If any among ye are reasonably close, however, it will provide us with grounds for hoping that ye are gifted with a measure of discernment. I shall risk giving a bias to the results by telling ye that what happens to Morag MacDougal when she carries out the experiment, while it may be intensely painful, shall not be irreversible."

"When_I_ carry out the experiment?" Morag's eyes were wide.

"When you carry out the experiment, Morag MacDougal. Somefolk has to, or what point in all this?" With a calm sweep of his arm the centaur encompassed the table and its contents. "Nor can I touch it myself, as I have to be in a condition to teach, afterwards."

"Ye must be out of your mind!" exploded Morag. "I'm nae touchin' that – that stuff!" She jabbed a finger at the brown block, emphatically.

Tarahin regarded her frostily. His left eyebrow curved fractionally upwards, censorious. "I would remind you, Morag MacDougal, that while you are at Hogwarts you have a duty of obedience to your teachers. The refusal to obey a direct order from any member of staff is likely to result in expulsion," he said coldly.

"I dunna care!" blazed Morag. "I'd rather be expelled than – than blown to wee bitties, or – or turned intae stone, or somethin'!"

"I am not prepared to countenance disobedience in this class." The centaur's frosty expression became arctic. "If you do not obey my order, _now,_ you shall face the consequences."

"I'll face 'em, then! I'm nae goin' to be magically messed about wi', not for you or anyone else!"

"That is your final word?"

"Aye, it is!"

"Good. You may be seated." Tarahin's expression softened somewhat. It remained serious, but the chill had gone from it.

"Ye what?" Morag stared at him.

"You may be seated, Morag MacDougal. And what you intended to say, I do not doubt, was 'You what, _sir?_'; which, upon this occasion, I shall take as having been said. – There are many who doubt the usefulness of Divination," he continued, turning to the rest of the class, as, bemused, Morag sank back into her seat. "Yet Morag MacDougal has shown us a way in which it may be most usefully and practically employed. She looked into the future. She saw that it held two discrete possibilities. And she acted in such a way that the possibility which best suited her was the one that came to pass. Required to choose between being the subject of a most unpleasant magical transformation and being accused of insubordination before the headmaster, she chose the latter, and responded accordingly. That, _that_ is the heart of Divination, ye Childer of Eve and Adam. There are many possible futures. Wisdom lies in evaluating them as closely as you can, choosing that which is best, and acting to facilitate its occurrence. For Morag MacDougal's help in illustrating this important point I award ten points to her house." He paused, then added, "And for her refusing to obey a direct order from a teacher, I subtract ten points from her house."

Morag's pleasantly surprised look disappeared.

"What – what _is_ that brown stuff, actually, sir?" Seamus wanted to know. "What would have happened to Morag if she'd touched it?"

"That?" To the class's surprise Tarahin walked over to the table without donning the protective clothing or uttering any incantations. He picked the brown slab up casually, and nibbled at it. "It is cooking chocolate. Naught would have happened to her, unless perchance she suffers from an allergy to it. By touching it, she might have proved that she was a prey to the common and regrettable human need for authority figures, but that would have been all. Happily, she did not."

"_Cooking chocolate?!_" Relief was the class's main emotion, but there was amusement and indignation mixed in with it.

"What was all that stuff for, then; the spell and everything? – Sir?" A meaningful lift of the centaur's eyebrow prompted Ron to add a hurried honorific to his indignant protest.

"The 'stuff', Ronald Weasley, was necessary if the volunteer was to be given a meaningful choice to make. What would ye have learned from seeing Morag MacDougal chose between touching a slab of cooking chocolate and being reported to the headmaster? – With regard to the spell, for its meaning to be divined it must be spoken several times as swiftly as possible. However, I would recommend that if you try to fathom it you do not point at another person during the process."

"Oh."

Hermione consulted her notes. "Dini... Hiumus... Tabiki," she mumbled, and she went on to repeat the phrase several times under her breath as quickly as she could. "Dini Hiumus Tabiki Dini Hiumus Tabiki..." Around her the lesson continued.

"But, sir, isn't the point of Divination foretelling the future?" asked Sally-Anne Perks tentatively. She had always had a soft spot for horses; somebody who was half horse and half reasonably-good-looking man had a certain amount of appeal for her, and as a result she was disinclined to risk upsetting him. On the other hand, the kind of decision that Morag had just made was some distance away from the processes that she associated with fortune telling.

"Foretelling the future with any degree of exactitude, Sally-Anne Perks, is practically impossible," Tarahin told her, fixing her with a steady hazel gaze. "I hope to demonstrate such to ye, ere the end of this lesson."

"But centaurs are supposed to be able to read the future in the stars, and things like that, aren't they?"

"My people do spend long whiles studying the night skies, such is truth. How should we not seek to gaze upon aught of such beauty? Yet what we gain from the practise, I sorrow to tell it, is but a deepened appreciation of the wonders of the universe. That, and cricked necks every so often."

"You must be kidding!" An exclamation from Hermione startled everybody, apart from Tarahin.

"I assure you, Hermione Grainger, I am in earnest," he said solemnly.

"No! It's that 'spell' – that 'Dini hiumus tabiki' business. If you say it over and over quickly you end up with 'ihumus tabiki din': 'ihu-musta-bi-kidin' – 'You must be kidding'! – Sir."

"You do, indeed, Hermione Grainger," he confirmed, straight faced. "For your correctly delving to the mystery at the heart of the spell I award two points to your house. For your interrupting your teacher when he was expounding upon the wisdom and virtue of his kind, however, I subtract two points from your house. – As I was saying," he continued above Hermione's harrumph of protest, addressing the class, "the future contains a practically infinite number of possibilities. There are, I believe, instances of where seers – human ones, I haste to add – have made prophecies that have proven to be correct. What is perhaps more important is that it has never been recorded that somebody, upon hearing a prophecy, has been able to act in such a way as to render the prophecy null and void. Thus, the doubtful nature of the vast majority of prophecies, combined with the inability of people to negate them, makes that aspect of Divination unimportant, in the view of many people. What is of importance to _everyone_, however, is that they evaluate the various possible futures and act in a way that improves the likelihood of the best of them being realized; as Morag MacDougal has recently demonstrated. I intend to try to improve your skill at such evaluations, during these lessons."

"So we won't be reading tea-leaves, sir?" asked Terry Boot, partly in jest.

"Reading tea-leaves may be part of the process, eventually, Terry Boot. But it will not be the essence of it. What is seen in the patterns of tea-leaves reveals more about the seer than it does about the future, but it can still be useful. – On the word of patterns, we shall now create some. For this ye shall divide into groups of three. Neville Longbottom, Michael Corner, Hannah Abbott; ye shall work together. Gregory Goyle, Seamus Finnigan, Ronald Weasley; the like for ye." Tarahin reeled off names in groups of three, adding quietly but with an air of finality, "Nor do I seek your opinion on these groupings," when there were one or two mutters of protest. Hermione found herself grouped with Parvati Patil and Theodore Nott; Harry with Lisa Turpin and Anthony Goldstein. The numbers did not work out exactly, and Dean Thomas and Zacharias Smith found themselves in a group of two. The centaur made up for the lack by sending an enchanted quill over to join them. With what was apparently an example of centaur humour he referred to the quill as 'Anne Other'.

When the class had settled down Tarahin instructed them to turn to the middle page of their Divination notebooks. "There ye shall find a squared page," he told them. "At the bottom of that page, in the middle, there is a vertical line running up the side of the first four squares. It is for ye now to continue that line, taking turns to draw it, one square-length at a time. The lines may run horizontally, diagonally or vertically. Each line must be different from the previous one, and no line may go downwards. When ye have reached the top, the one of ye that is in the middle of the group shall indicate such my raising a hand. Ye shall commence."

Drawing a line with a quill wasn't difficult, though the tendency of different people to favour different directions meant that the resultant lines straggled somewhat. Perhaps inevitably, Dean attempted to fool around by making the line go downwards at one point. The attempt failed: instead of leaving a mark on the paper the quill emitted a shrill squealing noise.

"As I instructed ye," Tarahin intoned, "the lines are not to go downwards. For the information of any among ye who may be in doubt, 'downwards' is the opposite of 'upwards'."

"Sorry, sir." Dean grinned self-consciously.

"Let it not happen anew, Dean Thomas." The centaur accepted the apology composedly, but in a manner which discouraged any further deviations.

When the last group finished - it was that of Seamus Finnigan - Tarahin indicated satisfaction with a slant of his head.

"It is well," he said. "Now for the Divination aspect. For this, ye shall work separately. Turn-you each to a fresh page, and draw upon it the line that ye reckon the group to your right drew."

"Try to copy their line, do you mean, sir?" enquired Neville, a little nervously.

"Not to copy it, Neville Longbottom. To reproduce it," was the patient reply.

"But won't it be a bit difficult to get it right, sir?"

"It is practically impossible for ye to get it right, Neville Longbottom. The point of the exercise is that ye should appreciate such. Do-ye but guess at where ye reckon they sent their line, and mark-ye your paper accordingly. Anew, ye should progress in turns and mark one square-length at a time."

"Oh. Right, sir."

The second lot of drawings were executed more quickly than the first lot had been, thanks to the fact that only one person was responsible for deciding where to put the line. While the class was at work their teacher made a casual gesture and sent the table and its contents back wherever they had come from. He kept the cooking chocolate, however, and took a small bite of it every so often. In place of the table he conjured up a large easel with square of plain white board on it.

Parvati was the last to signify that she had completed the task. Tarahin acknowledged the sign with another slant of his head.

"Ye every are done? It is well. We shall now examine the results of your labours. Draco Malfoy, do-you raise the notebook in which your team were working, and hold-you it open... That is well." At a sweeping gesture from the centaur's forefinger a copy of the ink line that the team had drawn detached itself from the book, grew in size and fastened upon the white board. He glanced at it, then turned towards Seamus. "Seamus Finnigan, it was the task of each member of your team to try to match the line which Draco Malfoy's team drew. Do-you hold up your book, and we shall see if you yourself managed to do such."

Seamus raised the book and held it open at the appropriate page. Another gesture, and a copy of the line flew across to fasten upon the board, on top of Malfoy's group's line. "They're not all that alike, sir," he admitted, inspecting the results. "The first four squares are pretty good, but it wanders a bit after that." The lines across the first four squares, which had been in all the books, naturally corresponded exactly.

"A reasonable summary, Seamus Finnigan," Tarahin concurred equably. "We shall see if the other members of your team were any more successful. Gregory Goyle; your book."

Goyle's attempt at guessing the directions that Malfoy's team's line had taken was no more accurate than Seamus's had been. Ron's proved just as wide of the mark.

"It is but to be expected." The centaur made a circling movement with the palm of his hand, and the lines disappeared. "See-we now if the members of Hermione Grainger's team had any more success as they strove to match that of your team. Seamus Finnigan, show to me your team's line... That shall suffice." A gesture reproduced Seamus's team's own line and fixed it to the board. One by one, others superimposed Hermione's team's three efforts at forecasting it. Unsurprisingly their lines bore little relation to the first one. Team followed team, but the level of success remained low.

"It is hardly surprising that none among ye came close to accomplishing your task," commented Tarahin as he magicked away the last quartet of lines. "Ye n'are to be blamed for failing. Given the number of possibilities, ye did as well as anyone else could have done. Such given, I would have ye gain one wisdom from your attempt, and it is this: ye were working in a very simple system, with three contributors selecting from five variables, and ye produced a result this complex..." All the lines, superimposed one upon another, appeared upon the board again. The resultant picture resembled a tree, to a certain extent, but it would have been a very gnarled tree.

"Life, at the other flank, is a most complex system, with billions of contributors selecting from billions of variables," he continued. "Ye would needs have been fortunate indeed to succeed in matching one of your drawn lines with another, but lately. To expect anybody to succeed in drawing a line into the future and matching it accurately with what is going to happen would be to expect too much. There are, however, a few points on the board where several of your lines overlap. It may be that there are corresponding points in time where the multitude of different possible futures overlap, and that it is these points upon which your seers occasionally successfully fasten. Such given, the number of failed prophecies far exceeds the number of accurate ones. It is best, therefore, not to place overmuch reliance upon tellers of fortune. – And, on the word of 'fortune telling'..."

He beckoned, and another table swam into view. It was a far more modest affair than the first, and it supported a pyramid of small white cardboard boxes. He glanced at the pyramid, apparently found it satisfactory, and turned to face the class.

"Balls to the lot of ye," he said solemnly. He paused just long enough for jaws to drop, then explained, "Crystal ones. They are not of the kind favoured by tellers of fortune, but as ye are only beginners at the art they shall suffice for ye to practice upon. Your homework is that ye shall find somewhere quiet, empty your minds of all thought – by dint of great effort, sayless – and concentrate for ten minutes upon what, if anything, ye see in the balls. Ye shall scribe the results in your notebooks. We shall discuss your seeings in the next lesson. Daughters of Eve, Sons of Adam; fair parting." A final flick of his wrist sent the boxes drifting across the glade, one to each pupil. The class caught them, scrambled up, and trooped out past the door which had creaked open at the back of the classroom.

"What did you think of that?" enquired Ron, as he, Harry and Hermione made their way along the corridor.

"It was – different, I suppose," Harry allowed. "There wasn't much actual _magic_ in it. I mean, he performed a couple of summoning charms and a few levitations, and that business putting the lines on the board was clever, I suppose, but I don't know what it added up to. If anything."

"It's the first time I've heard a teacher saying that the subject they're teaching is rubbish," was Hermione's verdict, waspishly delivered.

"He didn't say that, did he?" Ron stared at her.

"He practically did. Divination's supposed to be about seeing into the future. If it's all but impossible to do that, like he said, what's the point? 'Dini hiumus tabiki'! I ask you!"

"'Centaur magic is different to ours,'" he reminded her, grinning. She sniffed. "I know one thing," he added, "it's the first time any of our teachers has been in the nude. And it was fairly obvious that he was a male centaur, too."

"It certainly was!" snorted Hermione. "It would have been politer for him to have covered those – those _bits_ up!"

"Let's hope it doesn't catch on among the rest of the staff," said Ron, with a faraway look in his eyes. "Imagine Defence Against the Dark Arts, taught by Umbridge with no clothes on."

"I don't _want_ to imagine it, thank you very much!" Harry told him emphatically.

"It'd be a great way of getting people to conjure up patronuses, mind you. They'd do it out of sheer panic."

"What about Potions, with Snape?" suggested Harry, with a sour grin.

Ron cackled. "Watch my wand carefully, Potter, or your potion will be a disaster – as usual," he said, in a voice that was intended to resemble Snape's but didn't.

"If you two are going to be rude, you can be rude among yourselves," Hermione informed them coldly, over Harry's chuckle. She quickened her pace, leaving them in her wake.

"Girls!" Ron shook his head sadly. "They've got no sense of humour at all! – I wonder what this crystal ball's like." He opened the small cardboard box and extracted the ball from its nest of shredded paper. "That's weird," he said, studying it critically.

"What is?" Harry looked across at it. He chuckled. "That's not a crystal ball! It's a – I don't know what they call them; a 'snowstorm' or something. You get them in tourist places sometimes. They've usually got a landmark or something on them. That's Blackpool Tower. You shake them and all that white stuff whirls around, like snow."

"Does it?" Ron shook the glass globe experimentally. "You're right. It does. They're a muggle thing, then?"

"They are. They're as common as anything, and they only cost a few pence each. How we're supposed to see the future in something as tatty as that, I don't know."

"I can foresee myself giving this to my dad for his next birthday. It's just the kind of thing he's into – weird muggle artefacts. As for seeing anything else, though; you're probably right. Oh well, if we haven't been given the right tools we can't be blamed for not doing the job properly."

"We could always tell Tarahin we foresaw bad weather coming," suggested Harry, less than seriously.

"You can tell him that, if you want to. I'm not sure I want to try pulling his leg. I get the feeling he can be a bit fierce if he wants to be. Mind you, ten minutes' worth of homework isn't bad. I hope McGonagall follows his example."

"Me too. But I don't suppose she will!" And the two of them made their way to Professor McGonagall's Transformations class.


	2. Lesson Two

**Lesson Two**

With Professor Trelawney still barred from teaching, the Divination lesson was to be taken by the centaur, Tarahin. As a result it was being held in the ground floor classroom which Professor Dumbledore had transformed into a part of the forest. Singly or in groups, the students made their way to the room. They were not the only ones to do so.

"What's Umbridge doing here?" muttered Ron, scowling at the squat figure that was waddling majestically a couple of dozen yards ahead of them.

Harry shrugged. "Evaluating Tarahin on behalf of the Ministry, I suppose. She's doing it to all the other teachers."

"Let's hope he has better luck than Hagrid."

"He's got no chance. She'll want him out just because Dumbledore brought him in."

"True. Mind you, if she kicks up enough of a fuss he may forget to test us on our homework." Ron looked on the bright side. His attempts at seeing the future in the 'crystal ball' that the centaur had given him had been fruitless. "If he _does_ forget, at least Hermione won't have to worry about the disgrace of getting no marks, for once."

"It was a ridiculous task!" Hermione bridled. "I'm sorry I wasted my time on it. As I'm not actually one of his students, I didn't really _have_ to do it at all, but I thought I might as well oblige him. I don't believe people can see the future in _real_ crystal balls, so what chance had we got of seeing it in cheap tourist tat from Blackpool? It's probably just another of his silly 'You must be kidding' things."

"'Centaur magic is different from human magic,'" Ron reminded her, quoting the words that she had used when she had first heard Tarahin's 'Dini hiumus tabiki' incantation. He had put that quotation before her on several occasions since the last Divination lesson, and her glare indicated that the joke was wearing thin.

"Oh, shut up!" she snapped.

"Better leave it, Ron," advised Harry with a grin, "unless you want the future to involve you trying to get your crystal ball out of a tight, dark place."

"I wonder if there's a spell for that," speculated Ron, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "_Bottomius insertio_ or something."

"There are times, Ronald Weasley, when you are extremely puerile." Hermione surveyed him icily.

"Maybe, but I'm not barmy enough to turn up for lessons when I don't have to, like you're doing. – When are your extra Arithmancy lessons going to start, anyway?"

"Next week. Professor Vector said the class is still doing things that I've already covered, so there's not much point in my turning up just yet, but they're supposed to be catching up with me at some point over the next few days. Until then, it's free periods."

"Free periods." Ron shook his head ruefully, and turned towards Harry. "She could be doing nothing, and she's going to a class instead! What wouldn't I give for free periods?"

"Your whole life is a free period. – An intelligence-free period!" was Hermione's opinion, tartly expressed. She might well have said more, but they had arrived at the classroom door.

As it had done for the first of the centaur's Divination lessons, the classroom had become a ruin in a forest glade. Harry wondered if it was like that all the time or only when it was in use for Divination lessons. Sunlight filtered through the trees, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves every now and again. Tarahin himself was standing there, grave-faced and immobile except for an occasional twitch of his long white silken tail. Most of the class were already present: they were sitting in a semi-circle in front of him. With a graceful gesture of his right hand he indicated to Harry, Ron and Hermione that they should sit with the others. They did so. Moments later Michael Corner and Terry Boot arrived, with a flustered-looking Neville Longbottom at the rear.

"Sorry I'm late sir," Neville panted. "I dropped my books and things, and they went all over the place."

"Your lateness, Neville Longbottom, is marginal at most. It shall have no ill effects upon the lesson," the centaur told him gravely. "Be-you sat; and be-you welcome."

"Thank you, sir." Red about the cheeks, Neville subsided on to the grass at the end of the semi-circle.

"Displays a lamentably negligent attitude to timekeeping and to discipline." The voice was that of Professor Umbridge, who was standing to one side. She appeared to be speaking to herself, as she made a note in her book, but her words were plainly audible. If Tarahin was disturbed by them he gave no sign of it.

"Young Daughters of Eve. Young Sons of Adam. Be-ye welcome," he began calmly. "And you, Dolores Umbridge. We shall begin by examining the homework that I set at the end of the last lesson. Do-ye take out your crystal balls, therefore, and also the notebooks in which ye listed the results of your scrying. – You wish to say something, Dolores Umbridge?" For she had coughed politely but meaningfully.

"I do, indeed, _Professor_ Tarahin." Umbridge walked up to him and stood in front of him. Her lack of height emphasised his tallness, and she had to peer up to talk to him, as though she was talking to somebody who was sitting on a horse. "Before I begin to assess the methods which you use in _attempting_ to teach this lesson I must establish your fitness to teach it at all. What, exactly, are your qualifications for taking Divination classes?"

The centaur gazed down at her, expressionless. "My qualifications for taking Divination classes," he said evenly, "are the same as your qualifications for taking part in the running of Hogwarts school, Dolores Umbridge. We are both attempting to carry out a task to which we have never before set our hands, a task for which we are unsuited; and we are doing so not from choice but at the behest of other people. We are stop-gaps, you and I, tools put to use not because we are fitted for the purpose but because we are available."

"Whatever your own shortcomings are, I am perfectly capable of supervising the running of this school, Professor Tarahin, I assure you." Umbridge glowered. "My years of experience at the Ministry of Magic have given me ample experience of dealing with people – and indeed with half-breeds such as yourself. I am more than capable of reorganizing Hogwarts so that its teaching standards meet the requirements which parents rightly demand of it, whereas _you_ seem to have neither the experience nor the qualifications which would suggest that you are fit to be a teacher. What do you actually _know_ about the subject that you are purporting to teach?"

"My kind have made a practise of wisdom, down throughout the centuries," the centaur told her mildly. "I have dipped my cup into the well of that wisdom, and would offer it to these human foals that they may sip of it. If they give ear to me, they shall learn how rightly to look at the futures. Given the apparent inability of most Two-legs to see past the ends of their own noses, such is none ill for a foal to learn."

"So, you look into the future, do you?" She regarded him with frank derision. "Look into it now, then, and make a prophecy."

"You wish me to foretell the future?" Tarahin's left eyebrow raised slightly. As the class knew, this was a warning sign; but Professor Umbridge failed to recognize it.

"Yes. _If_ you can. Which I very much doubt."

"Be it so, then." The centaur closed his eyes. He raised his arms, and chanted "Dini... Hiumus... Tabiki," twice, to Hermione's barely-concealed disgust. That done, he lowered his arms, opened his eyes, and fixed Umbridge with an unnerving hazel stare. "I predict," he said impressively, raising a fore-hoof, "that the next sound made by Dolores Umbridge shall be one of pain." And with that he trod upon her foot, heavily.

"Aaaaaagh!" Anguished, she pulled her foot from under his hoof; having withdrawn it she clutched at it and hopped up and down, trying to comfort it.

Tarahin put his forefinger to his lips and moistened it with his tongue. Then he drew a large figure '1' with it, in the air.

"Mark-ye, tremble, and learn, ye that would scoff at my prophetic powers," he said to nobody in particular.

The reaction among the students was mixed. Jaws dropped, eyes widened, and there were one or two stifled chuckles.

"You've broken my bloody toes, you wretched creature!" roared Umbridge, still hopping.

"I prophesied at your demanding, Dolores Umbridge. And my prophecy was fulfilled," he pointed out calmly.

"Of _course_ it was fulfilled! You bloody well fulfilled it yourself!"

"_Somebody_ has to fulfil prophecies, and no gainsay. They do not fulfil themselves, do they? – For more, there are healing spells that you can apply to your foot, are there not?"

A muttered oath from Umbridge. "I don't _know_ any bloody healing spells!" she hissed.

"You occupy a position at the Ministry of Magic, but you do not know any healing spells?" Tarahin gazed down at her, his eyebrow once again set at 'danger', and asked softly, "What kinds of spell _do_ you know, then, Dolores Umbridge?"

"You'll find out, one of these days; you and all the other vermin!" Cautiously she lowered her foot to the ground, and tried to put her weight on it. She winced. "Ouch!" she yelped.

"Would you have me prophecy again?" he asked innocently.

"No, I wouldn't, you – you _half-donkey!_" With as much dignity as she could manage, she limped back to the side of the class, muttering "Disgraceful! Assault on a Ministry official!" as she went.

"Young Daughters of Eve. Young sons of Adam. Your homework." Freed from the interference of officialdom, Tarahin took up the reins of the lesson again. "I trust ye every found the opportunity to concentrate upon your crystal balls for ten minutes. Were any among ye unable to do so?" A glance around the class showed that everybody had done their homework – or at least that nobody was admitting that they hadn't done it. He nodded satisfaction in his usual rather horsey way: head raised, angled slightly, and lowered again. "It is well. Yet ere we turn to such, there were a special task that I laid upon you, Dean Thomas. I trust that you have executed it."

"Finding out about the – the centaurs and their... mates, sir?" Dean began. "Um. Yes, I've done it."

"Then do-you put the results of your research afore your classmates."

"You want me to tell everybody, sir?"

"I do, Dean Thomas."

"Right." Dean appeared uneasy. "It – it doesn't exactly show centaurs in the best of lights, sir, if you take my meaning."

"We shall risk such."

"Oh. Well, the first one I came across was called Cheiron. He was married to somebody called Chariclo. She was a nymph. – It's a kind of goddess or spirit of some sort, not what you think," he added, hearing somebody snigger. He looked down at his notes and pressed gamely on. "And then there was Nessus. He tried to – to _romance_ Deianeira, who was Hercules's wife. She was a human, of course. And there was, um – " he took another glance at his notes – "Eurytion. He and some other centaurs stole away Hippo- Hippo-day-mee-eye-a, is it? – The daughter of the king of, um – I can't read what I've written... King Enormous? He was king of Pisa, anyway. – But she was a woman, too, of course. There were a few other women, too, by the look of it, but you said 'three', and those were the first three I read about."

"Even so." Tarahin nodded gravely, in that horsey way. "The king's name was Oenomaus, and his daughter was Hippodamia. It was rape, according to our tale, but I doubt that she was ever taken to court and charged. – Be it or no, have your researches enabled you to reach any conclusions about my kind and our origins?

"They – sort of have, yes, sir." His main conclusion had been that centaurs were as randy as rabbits and far less moral, but it seemed impolite to say so. Happily Tarahin didn't press the point.

"And you are no longer under the illusion that we are a result of a breeding programme instigated by Hagrid?"

"Definitely not, sir." Dean was utterly certain about that.

"It is well. – Let this be the final word upon the Childer of the Forest, ye Childer of Eve and Adam." Looking from face to face, Tarahin spoke solemnly. "Be the following known to ye: we centaurs are more than capable of organizing our own breeding programmes. We choose our own mates. And we are not especially selective with regard to their species." He paused, as if struck by a sudden thought. Then he turned to face Professor Umbridge, who had been outraged by the excursus into the matter of centaur breeding habits and was looking at him with great distaste.

"We are not especially selective with regard to their species," he repeated softly, as if to himself. And again, even more softly, "We are not especially selective with regard to their species..." Slowly, millimetre by millimetre, a smile spread across his face, becoming a leering grin as it did so.

Umbridge stared at him, mouth agape. To her astonishment he raised a finger and pointed at her. Reversing it, he pointed at himself. A jerk of his thumb indicated the leafy fastness of the forest. A bunched fist and several pumpings of his forearm left nothing to the imagination; he followed them with a wink and a jerk of his head in the direction that his thumb had indicated.

"P – Professor Tarahin!" Scarlet-faced, wide eyed, she gazed at him as if transfixed. He repeated the gestures, from the pointings to the wink and the jerk. Then the spell broke. With a cry of "The Minister shall hear about this!" she turned and waddled off towards the doorway, with as much speed as dignity and her aching toes would allow.

"You have a most alluring arse, Dolores Umbridge!" Tarahin called after her in honeyed tones. An eyebrow poised questioningly, he watched as, disregarding the protests of her toes, she accelerated, fled from the classroom and slammed the door shut behind her. He wrinkled his nose and sighed. "'Some ye win, some ye lose,' as your human sages have it," he said, stamping a hind hoof philosophically. Then he focused his attention on the class once more.

"So. Now that we may turn to your homework without fear of interruption we shall do so... I bade ye find somewhere quiet, empty your minds of all thought, concentrate for ten minutes upon what ye saw in the balls, and scribe the results in your notebooks. Ye every did such, credit to ye. Did any among ye see aught?"

The question met with blank faces and shaken heads. There was, however, one hand raised. It was that of Draco Malfoy. "I saw something, sir," he said, with a respect that was obviously feigned.

"Even so, Dracoy Malfoy?" Tarahin studied him. "And what was it?"

"It was a silly little tower of some sort."

"How big was the 'silly little tower'?" enquired the centaur, over Pansy Parkinson's sycophantic giggle.

"I don't know. A couple of inches."

"How were its girders arranged?"

Malfoy blew impatience. "I don't know. Sort of crossways, I think."

"Was there anything else besides the tower?"

"Well, there was a notice with 'A Present From Blackpole' or something on it. It was somewhere I'd never heard of; some stupid muggle place, I suppose. And there were some other buildings, too."

"And was there aught other?"

"There was – I don't know. Water, and some silly stuff that was supposed to be snow."

"How many flakes of snow were there?"

"I don't know! How should I know? I've got better things to do than sit around counting bits of muggle imitation snow!"

"Happen so. You wrote this in your book?"

"No. Only the bit about the tower. It didn't seem worth putting the rest of it in. It's not as though it had anything to do with the future."

"It had naught to do with the future. Yet it had all to do with your homework." Tarahin looked from one face to another, and went on placidly, "I bade ye study your crystal balls and describe what ye saw in there. The telling of nigh every among ye was that ye saw naught. Draco Malfoy alone has said that he saw in there what were obvious to anyone even at a glance: a tower, an inscription, some houses, water, and imitation snow. For that, I award ten points to his house. – At the other flank," he continued, freezing Malfoy's incredulous but triumphant grin, "Draco Malfoy offered the result of his observations with the intention not of furthering the class's learning, but of extracting the urine from his teacher. For that I subtract ten points from his house."

Malfoy's grin was replaced by a scowl, but grins appeared on several other faces.

"It is important," the centaur pressed on, "to have a firm grasp of a task ere ye attempt to carry it out. Ye heard my instructions, which were precise, but ye misinterpreted them. Thus when ye studied the balls ye strove to see what ye believed I wished ye to see, not what I told ye that I required of ye to see."

"That's not fair, sir!" protested Seamus.

"How is it not fair, Seamus Finnegan?" Tarahin eyed him seriously.

"You knew we thought you wanted us to look into the future, and you never made it clear that you didn't."

"My instructions were clear, or no?"

"I suppose they were. But they were misleading all the same."

"Happen such is truth. Yet what would ye have gained an I had made my instructions more explicit? Naught. By getting aught wrong, ye learn to take care to get it right in the future. It is important in any discussion between folk that each side understands full well what the others are saying; a difference between what is intended and what is understood can be catastrophic. It is also important that as ye go through life ye try to see what is actually there, not just that for which ye are looking. Again, there is a lesson inside the ball, not just a 'silly little tower'." He paused, then continued pointedly, "It is easy to step though life as though asleep, to pay as little heed to your senses as gets ye through the day. And yet the world around ye is redolent with wonders, from the insects that ye crush unheeding under your hoofs to the clouds that dance unnoticed above ye. _Ye live_, ye Childer of Eve and Adam! There is a magic in all that is, a magic that dwarfs any farting around with wands. It can be savoured by anybody, but most always it goes unheeded, drowned in the seas of your busyness. When is the last time ye looked at aught with any measure of concentration? Or touched it, or smelled it, or listened to it, or tasted it? Attempting to prophesy the future is of limited worth, and may be done only by a few if any; but appreciating the present is of all worth, and can be done by anyone. If ye learn such as a result of this lesson, your attending shall not have been in vain. And it is to that end that your next homework is directed: ye shall select a commonplace object, and ye shall study it with your several senses for ten minutes. At the end of that time ye shall write a description of it in your notebooks. Yes?"

"Right, sir." Seamus nodded, as did several other people.

"It is well." Tarahin was satisfied. "We step onwards, then. – This nexting fastens upon the theme of 'perception'. In it ye shall attempt to distinguish betwixt what is real and what is apparent: ye shall strive to see what is truly there, as Draco Malfoy did with the crystal ball." At a wave of his hand a large rectangle of chipboard appeared, and hung behind him apparently unsupported. Another wave, and a large sheet of paper appeared, pinned to the board. As the class watched, a line drawing shimmered into view. They gazed at it.

"Behold-ye an inking. At first, it shall look to your eyes like unto a shapeless collection of dots," Tarahin told them, paying no attention to the paper. "Ye should concentrate upon it, and attempt to purge your minds of thought. Ere long it may speak to ye. An it does, ye should write down what ye see, and indicate by raising a hand briefly that ye are done. Yes?"

Still the class gazed. Michael Corner raised a tentative hand.

"Sir?" he said cautiously.

"Yes, Michael Corner?" The centaur regarded him inquisitively.

"It – um. It looks like a naked centauress to me."

Tarahin's eyebrow lifted slightly, but he nodded. "Different people shall see different patterns there," he said calmly.

"It looks like a naked centauress to me, too, sir," offered Ron.

"Me too." Half a dozen other people chimed in.

"Hmh?" Tarahin glanced around at the paper. Sure enough, there upon it was a drawing of a centauress; young, naked and distinctly busty. She raised a hand and waved at him. "Hups!" he murmured. "Wrong picture!" A circle of his forefinger encompassed the centauress and then pointed away from the paper. She stuck her tongue out at him, chuckled, and cantered off to the side, out of sight, her bosom bouncing. At another circle of his finger what looked like a random splodge of ink replaced her.

"As I said," he reiterated, not in the least put out by the mishap, "ye should concentrate upon the picture, and attempt to purge your minds of thought – and especially of _that_ thought, Dean Thomas. Ere long it may speak to ye. It may not speak to ye loudly; it may but whisper, setting ye in mind of aught rather than offering an unmistakable semblance. If it speaks to ye, softly or loudly, ye should write down what ye see, close your books, and indicate by raising a hand briefly that ye are done. Ye may be required to outline the shape that ye see, so well that ye make no pretence at seeing."

There was silence, as the class studied the splodge. Mandy Brocklehurst was the first to scribble something down in her notebook. She put her hand in the air; the centaur nodded to her, kindly, and indicated that she could lower it. Neville came a close second, then Seamus. A cluster of people followed, Harry and Hermione among them.

"A wild guess shall suffice from ye others," Tarahin told the stragglers. "We have enough seeings for us to continue." He waited while the last three quills scratched their tardy descriptions. When the final quill had been put down he cocked an imperious finger.

"What the – ?" Mandy squeaked alarm as the notebook under her hand wriggled. With a sound like 'thupp' it spat out the word that she had recently written down. The word stretched, and jumped into the air; it flew over to Tarahin and hovered at his head-height, to the right of him. Other notebooks quivered, other words were shot out of them, and before long the centaur had a small cloud of words beside him, shimmering together like a school of fish. He regarded them composedly.

"As ye can see, ye have produced a variety of words," he said. "It is easier for us to study them if they group like with like, enlarge, and take on a brighter colour." As he spoke the word changed formation, ones that were similar hovering close by each other. They also grew in size and changed colour, turning from ink-black to a spectrum of iridescent hues.

"That's pretty, sir." Hannah Abbott was impressed.

"Words often have beauty, Hannah Abbott," he responded gravely. "But to discern such, ye must pay they due heed and treat they aright. – As ye see, we have several 'butterfly's, some 'cloud's, two 'puddle's, a 'fairy with wings', a 'bear', a 'dog', an 'explosion', and, amongst other things, a 'naked centauress'. Be-stood-you, Dean Thomas, and step-you to the board."

Dean stood up, half amused, half embarrassed, and moved to stand in front of the board.

Tarahin regarded him, straight-faced, and gestured toward the paper. "Now, Dean Thomas. Do-you outline for me the shape of a centauress, naked or otherwise," he bade levelly.

"Er. How do you know it was me who wrote that, sir?" bluffed Dean.

"What subject am I teaching ye, Dean Thomas?"

"Er. Divination, sir."

"Such, I would suggest, answers your question. – Do-you oblige me by outlining the naked centauress that you claimed to see in that shape." Still solemn of face, the centaur looked down at him.

"I – . Um. I'm not sure I can see it now, sir."

"I am sure that you intended to refer to the centauress as 'her' rather than as 'it', Dean Thomas."

"I can't see _her _now, I mean. Yes, of course." Noticing that Tarahin's left eyebrow had risen fractionally, and that the face of the banished centauress had reappeared and was glaring at him around the edge of the page, Dean hastened to correct his mistake.

"Were you able to see her _at all,_ Dean Thomas?"

"Well. No. Not really, sir. It was just a bit of a joke. – Though, I can see her face now."

"Hmh?" Tarahin glanced at the drawing. "Oh." He bared his teeth at the centauress and pointed imperiously into the background of the drawing. She responded with a rude gesture, and galloped off into the distance, disappearing behind the blotch. "I did say that ye might be required to outline the figures ye claimed to see, Dean Thomas," he continued, in even tones.

"Yes. I – I thought I might get away with it, sir," admitted Dean candidly.

"Such a misjudgement is – _unfortunate_." The centaur's eyes narrowed slightly. "We are dealing with words; and words, see-you, have _power_ – the word 'thwack' as a forinstance."

To the class's surprise 'THWACK!' appeared on the seat of Dean's pants, in gold letters. It glowed briefly, and vanished.

"Ow!" Dean put his hands to his bottom, which felt as though somebody had given it a rap with a hollow plastic cricket bat. When he took them away another word, 'HOT', glowed red for a moment before disappearing in its turn. There were one or two chuckles from the class, which Dean, who hadn't been able to see either of the words, couldn't understand.

"I subtract a point from your house for your lack of judgement, Dean Thomas. – And I award a point to your house for your honesty. Be-sat-you, and learn."

"Fair enough, sir. Thank you."

Tarahin waited while Dean, grinning ruefully, took his place among his classmates. Then he picked up the reins of the lesson again. "There is but one pattern upon the paper. Yes? And yet, ye saw in it several different pictures. In order that ye see that every picture has validity I would ask one among ye who saw a butterfly to step forward and outline it. Lisa Turpin, of your grace?"

Lisa stood up. She made her way over to the board and traced the outline of a butterfly with her finger. "That's the first wing, there, obviously," she said. "And that's the second. Its body's a bit squished, but you did say it didn't have to be a good likeness. – Sir."

"Truth." The centaur gave one of his horsey nods. "While you are here, can you make out any of the other shapes?"

"Er." Lisa examined the picture. "There's kind of a look of a cloud to it, with the swirly bits, there," she said, pointing. "I suppose it could be a puddle, too; the swirls are much the same. But that's the lot, really. – Sir."

"Even so. My thanks, Lisa Turpin. Be-sat-you. – Ye every then would grant a butterfly, a cloud and a puddle? Yes?"

There were murmurs of agreement.

"Other forms, perhaps, are less obvious. Vincent Crabbe, do-you outline your bear, of your grace."

Crabbe got up, clumsily. He slouched forward and peered at the paper. "Well, it's curled up. But that's its back, that curvy bit there. And that bit's kind of its – bum. And that blobby part could be a head." He jabbed a rough finger at the drawing.

"A back... a head... and a bum." Tarahin plainly had no problems with the last expression. As he spoke a golden line briefly highlighted the shapes on the paper. "You every see such?"

"Yes." Everybody saw it.

"My thanks, Vincent Crabbe. Be-sat-you. – Ronald Weasley, the explosion was yours. Of your grace?"

"Um." Red-faced, Ron stumbled to the board. "I suppose it's pretty well the same as the cloud," he began. "But I just thought of there being more _power_ behind those swirls. You can see it coming from _there,_ and _there._ – Can't you?" He appealed to his classmates. The result was unexpected.

"Praise be to our Divination teacher, the great, the good!" A voice rang out. It was that of Draco Malfoy. Everybody turned, and stared at him. He looked as astonished as they did. Lips slightly parted, eyes wide, he put a hand to his throat as if checking where the exclamation had come from.

"I value your approval, Draco Malfoy," Tarahin surveyed him expressionlessly. "Yet I prefer to have no interruptions in the classroom, be they expressions of appreciation of myself or of _derogation of the work of other members of the class._ You will take my preference into consideration in the future, I do not doubt. Yes?"

"Y – yes. Yes, _sir._" At a twitch of the centaur's eyebrow Malfoy added a hasty honorific. He still seemed unable to believe that he had just shouted Tarahin's praises. The other Slytherins were equally mystified.

"It is well. – And, ye every can see the explosion of which Ronald Weasley spoke? Yes?"

"Yes, sir," came a chorus.

"Even so. – Be-sat-you, Ronald Weasley. My thanks."

"What was all that about?" whispered Ron as he took his place again and Morag MacDougal went to the board to point out the shape of her 'frog'.

"Malfoy was going to make some cheap joke, I'm sure of it," Harry breathed. "But it came out all wrong."

"You reckon Tarahin jinxed him?"

"I can't think what else could have happened."

"Blimey." Ron was impressed, despite himself.

Morag returned to her place, having justified her 'frog' in everybody's eyes. Tarahin waited patiently until she had settled down and had stopped shuffling about. Then he spoke again.

"One shape," he said, gesturing towards the board. "Yet from it ye gained several impressions, all of which can be seen to be valid. Ye each fastened upon the picture that ye named because it came to ye through the filter of your mind. Remember-ye such, for it puts into your hands a valuable tool: it enables ye to be aware of your own mind-set. A serene mind is likely to present ye with gentle pictures, a troubled mind with ones that are darker. Being aware of your frame of mind enables ye to take your mood into consideration when you are evaluating possible courses of action. If ye look at tea-leaves and see the pattern of a skull, for instance, it may or may not have any bearing upon the future; but what it does indicate is that ye may well be very despondent, and that any decisions ye make are likely to be influenced by that despondency, mostlike for the worse. If, at the other flank, ye look into the leaves and see the pattern of a naked centauress, such indicates that ye are suffering from chronic optimism; to the point where ye may be tempted to vex your Divination teacher by trying his patience, again mostlike for the worse. Being aware of your mood, ye shall be in a position to evaluate your judgements more accurately and prevent disaster falling upon your heads."

As he said this last sentence, words the size of snowflakes began to tumble down upon the class. They were white and light and sparkly, and when Harry brushed one from his sleeve he saw that it said 'DISASTER'.

Parvati Patil, waving her hand to shoo away the descending disasters, chuckled. Hermione, however, gave a sniff of disapproval and brushed a disaster out of her hair impatiently.

"How do ye prevent disaster falling upon your heads, ye Daughters of Eve and Sons of Adam?" asked Tarahin.

"You try to be aware of your mood, sir?" suggested Neville tentatively.

"Ye do indeed, Neville Longbottom. And so?" The centaur cocked an eyebrow inquiringly.

"Er." Neville looked up at the disasters spiralling down. "I – Um. I'm aware of my mood," he said, in a voice that was less than assured. To his relief the disasters above him disappeared. "It worked," he said, with a beaming smile.

"It worked, Neville Longbottom, yes. – The rest among ye should follow in the path that Neville Longbottom has shown ye."

Variations on a theme of 'I'm aware of my mood' came from the class. As a result the flurry of disasters eased, until the only person still beset by them was Lavender Brown.

"I quite like my disasters, actually, sir," she proclaimed, raising her face to meet them as they fell.

"Praise be to our Divination teacher, the great, the good!" This time it was Pansy Parkinson who shouted out. She realized what she had done, and looked horrified.

Tarahin surveyed her. "Flattering though your praises are, Pansy Parkinson," he said calmly, "I would urge you to accept that this class would be no worse for the lack of them. The opinions of members of the class with regard to their fellow students are likewise superfluous. – Yet with regard to your disasters, Lavender Brown," he went on, turning to Lavender, "are you aware of your mood?"

Lavender sighed. "I suppose I am, sir," she admitted. The shower of disasters ceased, and the words that were lying on the ground evaporated.

"It is well." The centaur gave one of his horsey nods, and returned to his theme. "It is possible to see patterns in many things. Some patterns tend to indicate positive moods, others negative, though the interpretation may vary from person to person – for example a picture of a snake may be positive to an ophidiophile and negative to an ophidiophobe. If ye are ever called upon by someone to offer an interpretation of aught – a dream, perhaps – ye should ascertain what effect the subject matter of that dream has upon them, ere ye offer any meaning. Ye shall have noticed, I dun'na doubt, that for divination by means of patterns to be solidly grounded the patterns must be seen by the person who seeks the divination, not by the diviner. The basic task of the diviner is to interpret. A clear seeing of the future is rare indeed, but the interpretation of signs and patterns may be carried out by anyone who is possessed of a measure of intelligence and has the will to apply it. – Open-ye your notebooks, now, and find-ye a blank page."

There was a fluttering of paper as the notebooks were opened. When it ceased, Tarahin lifted a finger and crooked it slightly. Again words fluttered down, but this time they were small and black. They landed on the pages with a slight pattering sound, and arranged themselves into columns.

"I wish I could do my homework like that," muttered Ron under his breath, was he watched the words line up.

"It'd be useful," agreed Harry, equally quietly.

"Ye see before ye twenty words." Tarahin addressed the class when the shower ended. "Ye shall write opposite each your evaluation of them – whether ye regard them as good or as bad. And ye shall give a reason for your regarding. When ye are finished, ye shall indicate such with a hand. Ye may begin."

The members of the class bent over their notebooks and began to study the list of words. While he waited for them to finish their task, the centaur bent down and plucked a handful of long grass from the floor of the forest classroom. He inspected it casually, and spotted a beetle, which he coaxed on to his finger and deposited in a place of comparative safety. Having ensured that his handful of grass was free from insects he raised it to his mouth, took a bite from it, and chewed ruminatively.

Analysing the class's responses to the various words turned out to be a straightforward process, if a mildly interesting one. Several words had met with differing reactions, prompting a short debate about the reason for the differences – the debate might well have gone on for longer had not time run out and the bell rung.

"Ye have yy homework," Tarahin reminded the pupils as they stood up and gathered their equipment together. "Ye shall select a familiar object, examine it closely for ten minutes using whichever of your senses ye judge appropriate, and write a description of it in your notebooks."

"There's no catch this time, is there, sir?" asked Seamus, slinging the strap of his bag over his shoulder.

"There is no 'catch' this time, Seamus Finnigan. – Ye Daughters of Eve, ye Sons of Adam; fair parting." The centaur conjured the classroom door open casually. That done, he harvested another handful of grass and strolled off into the forest, taking the occasional appreciative bite at the grass as he went. The class piled out of the doorway.

"Well. That was – novel," commented Ron thoughtfully, as he and his friends made their way to the Griffyndor common room.

"It was," agreed Harry, in a similar manner.

"Did Tarahin really suggest to Umbridge that her and him should – ?" Tactful for once, Ron allowed for Hermione's presence and left the remainder of his sentence unsaid.

"I – got that impression."

"He's a braver man than I am, then... I wonder if he would have, if she'd said 'yes'."

"I really don't know. Though she didn't look like she was going to say 'yes'." Remembering the expression that had come to Umbridge's face, Harry chuckled.

"I still don't see how people and centaurs could _do_ that sort of thing. You'd have thought they'd be way too – _you_ know." He held his hands wide to illustrate the point.

"You would. – I wouldn't let Tarahin hear you talking about 'people and centaurs', by the way. I get the feeling he reckons centaurs _are_ people, and that he reckons it quite strongly."

"Fair point," Ron allowed. "_Humans_ and centaurs, then. I wonder if it was right, what Dean said about those centaurs and the women."

"It sounded a bit unlikely," was Harry's opinion.

"It also sounded a bit _rude_," Hermione broke in, with a disdainful sniff. "More than a bit, in fact."

"Come on, Hermione!" Ron glanced at her. "You've got to admit that the idea of Umbridge and Tarahin _getting romantic_ is enough to make a gargoyle laugh."

"It's a disgusting idea," she said severely. "And where he got that picture of a naked woman from, I don't know. I don't go to Divination classes expecting _sex!_"

"Where do you go, then?" The question slipped out before Ron could stop it.

Hermione subjected him to a withering glare. "Your hormones have got a lot to answer for," she told him crushingly. "I'll be glad when you get to the other end of adolescence and start behaving like a normal human being instead of a troll! – _And_ we didn't learn anything in that lesson. Nothing magical, anyway."

"He was spot-on with that prediction," Ron reminded her. She snorted.

"That was just another bit of 'Dini Hiumus Tabiki' rubbish. I don't suppose he'd recognize a proper prediction if it walked up to him and introduced itself. It's no wonder Professor Binns was so scathing about centaur magic! – And if you say 'centaur magic is different from human magic' I'll strangle you," she added, seeing Ron opening his mouth.

Ron closed his mouth.

"I'd like to see Umbridge's report, when she's finished it," reflected Harry. "'The member of staff under inspection trod on my foot, and then made a romantic proposal to me.' I don't suppose she's had to write that about many people. I wouldn't give much for his chances of staying in the job, after that."

Another sniff from Hermione. "I don't think he deserves to stay in the job: he's not a _proper_ teacher. And it certainly wasn't _my_ idea of a romantic proposal. I sincerely hope it wasn't yours, either. As for the troll here, goodness knows what his girlfriends can expect. – 'Get your coat, darlin'. You've pulled!'" she declaimed, in what was supposed to be Ron-like tones.

"Thanks, Hermione, but I'm busy at the moment. Some other time, perhaps." The voice was that of Lee Jordan. He, too, was heading for the common room, at a somewhat faster pace than that of Harry and his friends. Hearing her as he was overtaking them, he seized the opportunity to indulge in some mild teasing.

"I wasn't talking to_you!_" She spun around and glared at him.

"Drat!" he said cheerfully. "Which of you two's the lucky man, then?"

"The one who didn't get pulled," supplied Ron, more or less on reflex.

Hermione jinxed his shoelaces into the blackest of black knots, and didn't speak to him for the rest of the evening.


	3. Chapter 3

**Lesson Three.**

Classroom eleven, Harry was not surprised to discover when he and his friends arrived there for their third Divination lesson with the centaur Tarahin, had once more taken on the aspect of a ruin. On this occasion a playful breeze was blowing through it, sending the dapples of sunlight dancing across the grassy classroom floor and teasing the falls of hair of Tarahin's mane and tail.

The centaur was standing in his usual place, in the centre of the ruined room, with the students in a half-circle in front of him. With a graceful nod he acknowledged the new arrivals. An unhurried sweep of his arm indicated that they should take their place among the rest of the class. They did so. A trickle of latecomers arrived, Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson among them. Satisfied that everyone was now present who should have been, the centaur made a casual gesture and closed the door from a distance.

"Young Daughters of Eve. Young Sons of Adam. Be-ye welcome," he bade in a quiet voice, as was his wont, looking along the row of faces.

"Have you had the results of Professor Umbridge's inspection yet, sir?" Pansy asked, smirking.

"I am given to understand that your Ministry of Magic received a glowing report about me, Pansy Parkinson," he responded with solemn courtesy, taking no notice of the smirk or of the incredulous expression which superseded it. He paused, and continued a touch apologetically, "Word also has it that after glowing for a short while the report burst into flames, to the alarm of the official who was attempting to peruse it. It is unfortunate, perhaps, but there the matter lies. For better or worse, I remain on the staff of Hogwarts school for the time being."

"Oh." Pansy seemed unenthused at the prospect. Her lack of enthusiasm had no effect upon him whatsoever.

"I trust ye every found time to carry out your homework task. Yes?" he enquired, glancing at the assembled pupils.

"Yes, sir," came a rather ragged chorus.

"It is well. We shall begin by examining that homework. Padma Patil, do-you set a first hoof to the path by presenting your findings to us."

"Me, sir? Oh. Right." Padma opened her book and found the right page. "I, um, I had a look at a spoon, one of the ones in the common room, one of the ones we use for stirring drinks. It was made of a silver-coloured metal, and it was almost exactly five inches long. The handle of it tapered to meet the bowl, which was just over an inch long and about a quarter of an inch deep. There was a line of dots around the edge of the handle, which looked like they'd been hammered in – they were a bit crudely done. And there was a thing like a coat-of-arms at the end. I thought it was going to be something to do with Ravenclaw, but it didn't seem to be. It was a bit too worn for me to make it out properly, but it looked like some kind of animal – a fox, perhaps – under some bushes. It looked old – the spoon, I mean. The silver colour had worn through in places, leaving patches of bronzy colour. The surface of it was too dull to reflect much, though it still felt quite smooth, but where it caught the light of candles the bowl of it seemed to_spread_ the light on the outer curved surface and _concentrate_ it on the inner. It smelled kind of _metallic,_ if you see what I mean, and it tasted that way too. And the sound it made when I hit it with another spoon was quite sharp. And that was about it, really."

"Excellent." Tarahin stamped a hind-hoof in approval. "You used every one of your senses, you subjected your chosen object to a suitably close examination, and you discovered aspects of it which had hitherto escaped you. Stoutly done, Padmi Patil. – Millicent Bulstrode, do-you set before us the fruits of your examining."

Millicent Bulstrode, to the surprise of most of the other people in the class, turned out to have done an adequate job of inspecting her chosen object, a small table in the Slytherin common room. She earned a few wondering glances from her fellow students, and, when her account wound to its close, received a word of praise from the centaur.

"Stoutly done also, Millicent Bulstrode. That is a most adequate account. – Now you, Neville Longbottom."

One by one the members of the class reported their findings. The overall standard of their work was unexpectedly good, and even the worst were more than passable. Everyone had spent at least the required ten minutes upon the task, the objects selected were widely varied, and the descriptions were pleasingly detailed.

"Ye have done well, ye every," said Tarahin evenly, after bestowing a word of praise upon the last student to report, Seamus Finnigan, for his account of a tiny spider that he had found spinning a web in the corner of one of the corridor windows. He glanced around the class with approval. "I am encouraged to hope that ye Two-leg foals have a greater capacity for awareness than I had hitherto imagined. I suggest to ye that it will enrich ye if throughout your lives ye make a practise of pausing every now and anew to take a familiar object and devote your attentions to it for a short while, allowing it to communicate aught of itself to ye. Ye dwell in a world of marvels, where even the meanest thing is redolent with glory, but humans are generally reared to live hurried, careless lives, and thus the wonder of creation most often passes ye by. If every so often ye find occasion to stop galloping around heedless and instead bring your senses to bear on the world through which ye are hurrying ye may find a depth to your living of which, I sorrow to tell it, your kind are highmost often unaware. I say not that such will aid ye to pass examinations; mostlike it will not. Butyet at the ending of your lives, when your gods ask of ye "What do ye reck of Our creation?" ye shall not embarrass yourselves by having to admit "I did not notice it." – Has any among ye a question?"

Susan Bone raised a somewhat tentative hand. He noticed, and inclined his head gravely in her direction.

"Even so," he said. "Aright, we step on. For the next part of this lesson we require a volunteer. It must needs be –"

"Um. Susan has a question, sir." Ernie Macmillan ventured to interrupt.

"Such I see, Ernie Macmillan," the centaur responded with grave patience. "As I were saying, for the next part of this lesson we require a volunteer. It must needs – "

"But – I mean – aren't you going to listen to her question, sir?" Ernie persevered.

Tarahin's left eyebrow lifted fractionally. "I asked if any among ye had a question, Ernie Macmillan. I did not say that I wished to hear those questions. – We step on. For the next part of this lesson we require a volunteer." He paused, noted with well-hidden amusement the fact that perplexity was registering on many faces, and made a show of relenting. "Butyet perahap ere we step it wun'na go ill to give ear to Susan Bones's question. – Susan Bones?" He looked towards Susan and raised his eyebrow again, this time in invitation.

"Er. I just wondered, sir. About gods. Do you think there actually are any?" she asked.

"Gods..." He ran a thoughtful thumb up and down the cleft of his chin, and was silent for a few moments. Then he spoke, quietly.

"Upon a time, longwhiles since, a tribe of Two-legs heard the song of a bird. They thought that it was the most delightful sound that they had ever heard, and they wished to hear it always. To that end they decided to capture the bird. Thus they set about constructing a cage for it. As it was intended to hold a creature that were capable of singing with such incomparable sweetness, they lavished every attention and every effort upon the cage, fashioning its bars with exquisitely wrought gold, embellishing it with gemstones of greatest rarity and highest quality, and lining its floor with flawless diamonds. The cage was a wonder to behold, and people came from great distances to admire it. "What manner of bird must it be, to merit such a cage?" they asked one another. "Surely it must be the brightest, the biggest, the wisest, the most powerful, the most fearful, the most wonderful bird of all!" And they sang songs, hymning the bird's praises.

"Came a time, however, and there were reports that another tribe of Two-legs had also fashioned a cage for the bird; a cage which was said to be the equal in grandeur of that of the first. Great was the wrath of the first tribe when they heard this. They raised an army and went to war with the other tribe, seeking to establish which of their birds was the greatest. Many people were slain, and great were the horror and bloodshed, but in the end the army of the first tribe was victorious. It returned home in triumph; there was great feasting, and much rejoicing. Out of gratitude to the bird, and to its greater glory, the cage was expanded, and was festooned with jewels until the eye could scarcely bear to look upon the glory of it. When one among the tribe's number said "But I do not see the bird in it," the rest fell upon her and slew her for her impiety. Butyet her telling was truth. Every effort and highmost wealth had been devoted to the construction of the cage, yet almost from the first days its original purpose had been forgotten. What need has any folk of a bird, when they possess such a marvellous cage?"

With that, he looked around at his hearers, who were silent for a while.

"Er. I'm nae sure ye've rilly answered Susan's question, sir," said Morag MacDougal at last, rather apologetically.

"Happen nay, Morag MacDougal." Tarahin admitted as much, with one of his horsey head-up-slanted-and-lowered nods.

"I mean, do you think there rilly is a birdie?"

The centaur considered again, briefly. "Now and anew I hear aught that registers upon my spirit as a song of such complexity, simplicity and beauty that I feel I may dissolve into it," he said quietly. "Sayless, other people may not hear it as a song, though they may be at one with me in appreciation of it. Nor is the beauty of a bird's song any indication of the appearance of the bird itself. The most lyrical, liquid melodies may pour from the throat of a bird that is to casual sight tiny, dull and utterly unremarkable. With those two considerations in mind, therefore, I am content to wait and see if there is a bird and what it is like. There may indeed not be a bird. Butyet I am not persuaded that the quest for one is folly. – I accept that such does not answer your question, Susan Bones," he added, inclining his head towards Susan, "but I would have you credit that it is as much of an answer as any one of my kind would feel enabled to give."

"Fair enough, sir." Susan nodded.

"We step on." Tarahin took a breath that made his flanks heave. He thrashed his tail in a businesslike manner, and continued in less serious tones, "For the next part of this lesson we require a volunteer. It must needs be a strong-minded person, and widely known; one whose character invites differing opinions among their fellow students. Thus our volunteer is – "

Harry grimaced, and shifted about, ready to stand up.

" – Draco Malfoy."

Surprised but relieved, Harry settled down again and pretended that he'd just been stretching.

Draco looked equally surprised, and anything but relieved. "Me?"

"You, Draco Malfoy. Do-you come here and stand yonder." Tarahin pointed to a spot a centaur's body-length to his left.

"I don't remember volunteering. – Sir."

Tarahin regarded him calmly. "Do you believe that your volunteering or the lack of it makes the slightest difference, Draco Malfoy?" he asked, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

"I suppose not. – Sir," grunted Malfoy.

"It would appear that you are benefiting from my Divination classes already, Draco Malfoy. You divined such with great accuracy." He pointed to the spot again, with an authoritative finger.

Scowling, Malfoy slouched out and stood where the centaur was pointing.

"For this, ye shall divide into groups of three, the same groups that ye divided into for your attempt at prediction, that first lesson; save that Ronald Weasley shall join Dean Thomas and Zacharias Smith. Gregory Goyle and Seamus Finnigan must needs be contented to work alone, upon this occasion. Assemble-ye in your groups."

There was a certain amount of getting up and moving around as the students rearranged themselves into their groups of three. Tarahin watched them, tolerantly.

"So. For the nexting. In the last lesson ye looked at a blot of ink and divined several discrete patterns in it. Then in your homework ye discovered that objects thought to be familiar reveal unnoticed aspects of themselves when they are studied with all attention. It is for ye now to bring those two wisdoms together. Our volunteer, Draco Malfoy, is known to each of ye, superficially at least. Ye shall now pay to his form the attention ye paid to your familiar objects. Ye shall study him attentively, and ye shall write down in your notebooks what ye observe. To that end..." He turned towards Malfoy and crooked a finger.

Malfoy glared at him. "Don't you 'people' have _any_ manners?" he demanded, as insolently as he dared.

"We Childer of the Forest are not renowned for our manners, Draco Malfoy," came the soft-spoken reply. "Butyet I was not beckoning to you."

Malfoy shivered. As he did so, a copy of him stepped out of him and stood in front of the centaur. He stared at his duplicate, slack jawed. It was perfect in every detail; even its clothing was accurately reproduced.

"Bloo-dy hell!" Ron was deeply impressed. To judge by the expressions on the faces of his classmates, he wasn't the only one. Even Hermione sat up and paid attention.

"Corporeal Iteration," she murmured, as much to herself as to Parvati and Theodore, the other members of her group. "Now, _that's _magic!"

"You are for the first group, O! Simulacrum." Tarahin addressed the duplicate Malfoy gravely, and pointed towards Neville's group. It turned, walked over to where Neville, Michael and Hannah were sitting, and stood in front of them, expressionless and mindlessly patient.

A second beckoning produced a second copy of Malfoy, which was sent to the second group; other beckonings resulted in other Malfoys, until ever group had its own Malfoy to study.

"Praise be to our Divination teacher, the great, the good!" exclaimed Harry. He had intended to say 'All those Malfoys – I've died and gone to hell,' and he had intended it only for the ears of Lisa and Anthony, the other members of his group. To his embarrassment he discovered that the centaur's hex upon derisive remarks, about which he had forgotten, still held. Everybody looked at him, curiously. He reddened.

The centaur regarded him, dispassionate of face. "Whilst I accept that my magical skills may compel your admiration, Harry Potter," he said without apparent irony, "I must remind you that expressions of such are out of place during lessons. As indeed are observations which may be regarded as being _dismissive of other students_." He laid slight emphasis on these last words.

"Yes, sir. Sorry sir. I kind of – forgot."

"Forget-you not again, Harry Potter. – You may rejoin the members of your group, Draco Malfoy."

A somewhat stunned air to him, Malfoy did as Tarahin bade. The centaur waited until he was back in his place. Then he addressed the class.

"The simulacrae ye see before ye are to be treated with respect," he told them. "There may be other lessons where other simulacrae are required for study. A person who fails to show appropriate respect now shall be considered to have volunteered to provide simulacrae then. Ye are mindful of such; yes?"

"Yes, sir," chorused the class.

"It is well. Your simulacrum will obey simple orders, politely phrased – "

"Praise be to our Divination teacher, the great, the good!" sang out Ron. He had meant to say 'Which is more than the original will do,' and he'd only meant Dean to hear it. Finding himself the focus of everybody's eyes he blushed even redder than Harry had done.

"Ronald Weasley. I would have you pay heed to the words which I addressed to Harry Potter moments ago." Tarahin fixed him with an imperious eye.

"Right, sir. Sorry."

"The same applies to every among ye, let it be noted. For more, I would advise ye that for the remainder of this lesson any future praises shall be accompanied by a salaam."

"By a what?" demanded Millicent Bulstrode of Justin Finch-Fletchley, in what she supposed was a whisper.

"A salaam. It's kind of a hands-in-the-air bowing down," he supplied. "Shhh!" he added, as Tarahin's eyes flickered in his direction.

Millicent shushed, as indeed did everybody else. Nobody wanted to be the first to salaam to the centaur.

"As ye see," continued Tarahin, "the simulacrae are clothed. _They shall remain so. _For more, any requests to borrow a simulacrum for homework purposes shall be accompanied by a salaam and shall meet with a blunt refusal." The word 'NO!' glowed in the air for a few moments, in the same golden letters which had written a 'Thwack' on the seat of Dean's trousers during the course of a previous lesson. It was followed briefly by a fiery red 'AWFUL AGONIES'. The students put two and two together, as it were, and came up with the correct answer.

"Can we touch them, sir?" asked Mandy Brocklehurst. "I mean, nowhere _private,_ obviously."

"Ye may touch them, Mandy Brocklehurst. Nowhere private, sayless. Among ye humans, touch is a sense that is underemployed and little appreciated, for the most part."

"Can they speak, sir?" Terry Boot wanted to know.

"They can speak, Terry Boot, and they shall do so at your requesting. Thus ye may study their voices. They shall, however, but repeat words that ye bid they repeat. They shall not speak of their own volition."

"I see."

"Ye shall study each part of your simulacrum, paying most attention to the unclothed parts. Ye shall make a note of your observations, each in your own individual book. I would have ye make your observations accurate physically, but perhaps more important I would have ye write down the impression that the simulacrum's features make upon ye. To give but one example its eyes might perhaps be seen as 'icy', or 'commanding', or 'limpid', though anyone describing them as 'limpid' should be prepared to define that word; I give ye warning, it is not a kind of shellfish with a cold in its head. Needless to say, if any among ye are unwise enough to descend to stupid, spiteful descriptions they shall in a future lesson find themselves in a position where Draco Malfoy shall be able to be amply revenged upon them. The like, for any who bid a simulacrum utter words that are an affront to its dignity. I shall _not_ have students in my class demeaned. Yes?"

"Yes, sir." There was no doubting the sincerity of the centaur's words, softly-spoken though they were.

"It is well. I am assured that none among ye is foolish enough to test such for yourselves." Tarahin nodded. "Set-ye to it, then. I suggest that, as we have mentioned the eyes, ye begin with them."

The students regarded the simulacrae, at something of a loss. Stolidly, the simulacrae returned their gazes.

"Um. How should we talk to them, sir? To tell them what to do, I mean," enquired Parvati, dubiously.

"Ye shall but bid them, Parvati Patil. Address-ye them as 'O! Simulacrum," came the answer.

"Oh. Right. Um. – Look this way, please, O! Simulacrum." With an understandable lack of assurance Parvati followed the centaur's instructions. Her group's simulacrum turned its head towards her. Being stared at by a copy of Draco Malfoy was somewhat unnerving, but she steeled herself to it. "It works," she reported to Hermione and to Theodore Nott, the other members of her group. "Perhaps it'll be easiest if I have first go and you two take it in turns after me. Is that all right?" Neither Theodore nor Hermione made any objection. "Right, then. Eyes..." And, not without a certain amount of self-consciousness, she studied the eyes of the imitation Malfoy.

Work on the simulacrae proceeded in an admirably diligent manner. It took a while for the initial discomfort of issuing orders to a copy of Draco Malfoy to wear off – particularly for Draco himself – but before long the class warmed to its work, and indeed became quite absorbed in it. Tarahin wandered from group to group, offering words of direction and encouragement where necessary. Nobody was daft enough to put to the test his warnings about not treating the simulacrae respectfully: the prospect of volunteering to provide the next set of simulacrae was enough to rein-in the wildest of spirits, even that of Dean Thomas.

"Such will suffice, for our purposes," said the centaur eventually, making his way back to the centre of the classroom glade. "We have sufficient material upon which to work. Do-you step here, Draco Malfoy, and be reunited with yourselves. – You should but stand stilly, facing me, your arms at your sides," he added, as Draco came to stand in front of the class. "Such is well. You are ready?"

"Yes, sir." Draco nodded nervously.

"It shall swift be done. – Ye simulacrae shall line up behind Draco Malfoy, and be one with him again. And ye shall do such _now._"

As one the simulacrae stood up. They turned towards Tarahin, and made everybody jump by chorusing, "Don't tell _me_ what to do, half-breed!" Their defiance voiced, they formed a line behind Malfoy; then, one by one, they marched into him, and merged with him. He shuddered involuntarily as they did so.

"It is done," the centaur told him quietly, when the final simulacrum had disappeared. "You are well?" It was more of a statement than a question.

Under other circumstances Malfoy might have been tempted to exaggerate any discomfort he had felt, but at that moment relief at being the only one of himself in the room kept any thoughts of possible mischief-making far from his mind.

"Yes. Sir." He nodded.

"It is well. For your assistance in this lesson I award ten points to your house."

Malfoy managed a grin. It was destined to be short lived.

" – And for your having rude simulacrae I subtract nine points from your house," continued Tarahin.

"_Nine_ points, sir?"

"Nine points, Draco Malfoy."

"So I've still got one?"

"You still have one, Draco Malfoy. Butyet, for your questioning the manners of the Childer of the Forest..."

"You subtract a point from my house," finished Malfoy, sounding almost amused.

"Divination suits you, Draco Malfoy. You have a definite talent for seeing into the future. Be-sat you." There was a distant 'ping' as an emerald disappeared from the Slytherin house glass.

Malfoy shook his head ruefully, and took his place among the other students.

"Sir?" A censorious expression on her face, Hermione stuck her hand into the air.

"Yes, Hermione Granger?" Tarahin surveyed her in his usual imperturbable manner, and scratched at his belly with an idle hind-hoof.

"I don't think you're taking the house system seriously enough, sir," she complained. "I mean, every point you've awarded so far, you've taken away again."

"The second part of your observation is accurate," he accepted. "Yet with regard to the first part: one of the aspects of ye humans that I find baffling is your propensity to divide yourselves into competing groups. Ye seize upon each and every difference with your fellow humans, ye define yourselves by those differences, and then ye use them as a reason to belittle one another, or even to make war amongst yourselves. I would wager that if a spell was cast upon ye so that ye looked alike in every other way except that some of ye were tall and the others short there would be war between the talls and the shorts within a decade.

"Your school house system is born of that propensity. What gain ye from it? It binds some of ye closer together, but at the cost of pushing the others further away. It provides ye with another fount of division and misliking, when to the eye of an outsider ye are already over-laden with divisions and mislikings. Each of your houses has its own strength, but instead of bringing those strengths together and uniting them the houses serve as wedges betwixt ye and force your strengths apart. Imagine-ye a school whose students cultivated in themselves the wisdom of Ravenclaw, the groundedness of Hufflepuff, the ambition of Slytherin and the courage of Gryffindor – what could they not accomplish?

"I am not against your house system. On the contrary, I am glad that it exists. As a non-human I would be extremely worried if I thought that there was any possibility of humans overcoming their antipathies and working together in a common cause. United amongst yourselves, ye might well need to invent an enemy for ye to strike against, and non-human magical beings would be an obvious candidate for that position. That ye continue to be divided into houses, even in a school led by the most enlightened of headmasters, encourages me to believe that there is no prospect of such a unity happening in the foreseeable future. While ye devote your energies to fighting amongst yourselves ye are less likely to think of fighting against us."

"I don't think we'd do that, sir," said Zacharias Smith, in rather defensive tones.

"Do you not, Zacharias Smith?" Tarahin regarded him steadily. "Are you of the opinion that most among your kind make any distinction between the terms 'non-human' and 'sub-human'?"

"I – I don't know, sir."

"I do not know either, Zacharias Smith. But history discourages me from crediting that they do. Many among ye seem to need to despise others. They give them a derogatory name, they proclaim that they are naturally inferior, that they are less than properly human. And then they use that supposed sub-humanity as an excuse to persecute and even to destroy them. For this reason, therefore, I welcome the divisions among ye, of which your houses are but a sign. While ye are busied setting Slytherin against Gryffindor, pure-blood against mud-blood, 'muggle' against 'freak', and the like, ye shall have little time or energy to devote to setting humans against non-humans."

"We're not all like that," Hermione said defiantly. "And going by what Dean said the other day, you centaurs aren't exactly perfect!"

"No, Hermione Granger, ye are not all like that. But enough of ye are like that to cause grave problems for your own kind, let alone for other kinds. For more, your history suggests that those among ye who _are_ like that tend to rise in your society, to attain positions of power where they can cause great hurt. I do not doubt that your Ministry of Magic was set up to serve a noble purpose, and that the majority of people who work in it are well-intentioned. Yet what little I know of its officials makes me glad that we Childer of the Forest are beyond its remit. – Centaur magic, as you may know, is different from human magic," he added, the faintest glint of humour in his eye. "As for we centaurs not being perfect, such I grant you. All that I would claim is that we are _honest,_ that there is no deception in us. We do not pretend to be other than we are. How many of ye humans can claim such?"

"Is that why centaurs and humans don't mix, sir?" Lavender wanted to know. "Us being a bit – unpredictable, and a bit _grabby,_ I mean."

"It is one of the reasons, Lavender Brown." Tarahin nodded. "We centaurs are _so_ – " he clasped his hands together and shook them briefly to emphasise that they were firmly bonded together – "while ye humans are _so_." Freeing his grasp he bunched his hands into fists and banged them together sharply. "Ye hide your nakedness and parade your folly. Ye apologize for your farting and belching, the while ye make a boast of your greed and your cruelties. Ye chase after riches and power, and ye piss on the true riches of life which are available free to anyfolk that seeks them. It is as though ye are prone to a madness, in some kind. Many among ye are well enough, such I shall grant, and some among ye are high well. Such given, those that are ungood among ye seem to have an influence and a destructive power that is out of all proportion to their numbers. That is why we Childer of the Forest tend to regard your kind with suspicion. If that suspicion is often flavoured with distaste, as it is, I would ask ye to accept that such is not without cause. – Butyet we digress. We are occupied here not with the nature of humanity but with the nature of one particular human, Draco Malfoy. Ye every have written in your books a description of his several aspects. To those descriptions we shall now turn. We shall start at the very beginning, which, I am assured, is a very good place to start. See-we your descriptions of Draco Malfoy's hair."

At a casual flick of his finger the students' notebooks wriggled and ejected the appropriate descriptions, which stretched, jumped into the air and came together in a shoal beside him. He regarded them benevolently.

"Again, for the purposes of study, they are best enlarged, coloured and grouped like with like."

As he spoke the words grew in size, adopted a variety of bright colours, and divided into several separate shoals.

"So. – It can be seen that there is unanimity with regard to your description of the colouring of Draco Malfoy's hair." Tarahin pointed to where a large shoal of 'fair's and 'blonde's were shimmering placidly together. "Butyet if ye examine the other parts of your descriptions ye shall see that there is a measure of differentiation. Several amongst ye reported that the hair was 'silky', or words approximating to such." He pointed, and a handful of glittering silver 'silky's and terms similar to that swam upwards to hover above the other words. "Two, however, reported the opposite." At another pointing a small brown 'dry' and a larger but equally dully-coloured 'a bit stringy' descended from the group and drifted below it. "In like fashion, we have three 'fine's and a 'rather coarse'. The scent of the hair, which is due to Draco Malfoy's choice of hair care products, also divided opinion. We have some 'smells nice's and an equal number of 'doesn't smell particularly nice's." As he named them, the words separated from the main shoal, like again grouping with like. "Finally I award a house point to the three of ye who were intrepid enough to employ your sense of taste: it is well to see that ye are attempting to extend the range of your sense experiences. Sadly, two of ye incorrectly attributed the taste to the hair itself rather than to the use of hair care products. Equally sadly, while attributing the taste correctly the third of ye misspelled the word 'yucky'. Thus I am driven to subtract a house point from ye each."

"Surprise, surprise," somebody muttered.

"Are you indeed surprised, Michael Corner?" Tarahin identified the culprit effortlessly, and raised an eyebrow at him.

"Er. – Not really, sir," admitted Michael, pinkening but standing his ground.

"I rejoice to hear it. The fact that so many of ye are forecasting the future accurately encourages me to hope that ye may take more from these lessons than I had anticipated. – Your patience a moment." To the surprise of the students he sat down, rolled onto his back and wriggled about, making a grunting sound as he did so, his hoofs waving in the air. Having relieved the itch in his back he rolled over, stood upright and shook himself vigorously. A horse-like snort and a careless flick of his tail, and he was ready to continue. "We step on. Ye every examined Draco Malfoy's hair, on the heads of his simulacrae. It was the same on every head. Yet we have a variety of comments upon it, not all of which correspond. Indeed, several are in opposition. Someone coming into this class now would read that Draco Malfoy had hair which, amongst its other attributes, was silky, fine, gorgeous, nice-smelling, not particularly nice-smelling, dry, rather coarse, and a bit stringy. Without carrying out their own examination, is there any way in which they might determine which of the descriptions was accurate?"

Terry Boot raised a hand. "Could they sort of take an average, sir?" he suggested, when the centaur invited him to speak. "Ignore the extreme ones, and see what most people thought?"

"That would be a reasonable way of proceeding, Terry Boot," Tarahin agreed, with one of his horsey nods. "Given, of course, that they were aware of the nature of the group which was discussing Draco Malfoy's hair. If it was a meeting of a 'We Hate Draco Malfoy' society, or contrariwise of the – what is your expression? – of the Draco Malfoy Fanny Club, the average opinion might be less than dependable."

"It's – um. 'Fan Club', sir." Blushing, Parvati offered a tentative correction, over a certain amount of restrained tittering. "'Fanny' is – something else."

"Even so?" He made a gracious nod in her direction and corrected himself. "The Draco Malfoy Fan Club, then."

"A point from Centaur house," said Hermione under her breath.

"And a point from Gryffindor house for lack of respect for a teacher, Hermione Granger." Tarahin aimed what was supposed to be a reproving cocked eyebrow in her direction.

"Ears like a bat!" Ron mouthed a sympathetic but silent comment. Discreet though it was, it failed to escape the centaur's notice.

"And eyes like a hawk, Ronald Weasley," he said calmly. "Wisdom of ye every to be aware of such when ye are in class. Yes?"

"Er. It might be an idea, sir, yes," admitted Ron, reddening.

"A point to Gryffindor house for your gaining wisdom, Ronald Weasley." Having balanced the points once more, Tarahin returned to the matter in hand. "Averages are well, but ye must needs be aware of a potential for bias. You suggested eliminating the more extreme views on either side, Terry Boot. Why was this?"

"Um. – Because they're likely to come from people who particularly like Malfoy or dislike him, sir," explained Terry. "It'd be the same as making allowances for the 'Hate Club' and the 'Fan Club'."

"Even so. It is a logical step to take. And yet it is not always reliable. Would you eliminate the description 'a bit stringy' as coming from one of Draco Malfoy's mislikers?"

"Er. – Yes. I think so, sir."

Tarahin glanced around the class. "If you are not disinclined to do so, would the person who penned that description of Draco Malfoy's hair raise a hand, of your grace?"

There was a pause. Then, to everybody's astonishment, Malfoy himself put his hand up. He sat, looking both defiant and slightly sheepish.

Harry opened his mouth, intending to mutter "Blimey! Malfoy doesn't think he's perfect!". He felt a twitch in his arms, however, and in the nick of time remembered Taram's warning about the salaams. He closed his mouth again. A glance from the centaur confirmed that he had been wise to do so.

"My thanks, Draco Malfoy." Tarahin gave another gracious nod, this time in Malfoy's direction. "A point to Slytherin house for your courage."

Malfoy managed a rather twisted smile. "And a point from Slytherin for – ?"

"For proving your teacher wrong when he doubted that you possessed that courage. Teachers do _not_ like to be proved wrong."

Malfoy's smile became less twisted.

"As ye see, then, an apparent bias may not be actual, which renders allowing for biases problematic," continued Tarahin, turning to the other students. "We step on, to examine your accounts of Draco Malfoy's eyes." At a sweep of his hand the shoals of descriptions vanished. The books quivered, and spat out a fresh set of words, which took the place of the old ones. And the lesson continued.

Opinions about Malfoy's eyes turned out to be as divided as those about his hair had been, but they were dealt with more briefly. His ears, voice and hands received equally wide-ranging comments; again, the centaur dealt with them briskly.

"We have no need to analyse the rest of Draco Malfoy's form," he said, after banishing the final shoal of words. "The point, which I trust ye have registered, is that judgements are unreliable. Most often, they are clouded by the attitude of the judger towards that which is being judged. If, in future, ye are called upon to examine courses of action, or people, and to decide between them, it would be wisdom of ye to strive to be aware of your own attitudes, of the biases ye bring to your judgement; for biases there shall be. – How do you reckon that humans come to a decision about something, Mandy Brocklehurst?"

"Er – ." Mandy was startled at being called upon, but she gave the question rapid consideration and supplied an answer. "We get all the facts together, and we look at them, and we weigh them up. And then we make our decision. Sir."

"Ye every would concur with such?" Tarahin glanced around the class.

"Yes, sir." There was general nodding of heads.

"For the first part of your homework, then, I would have ye consider this proposition: that the way in which most humans reach a decision is that they first decide what they want to do, perhaps without realizing such; that they then look for facts which support that decision, and embellish or even invent them if they are lacking; and that finally they disparage or ignore facts which tell against what they want to do."

"That's not true, sir," protested Anthony Goldstein, affronted. As Ravenclaws tend to do, he prided himself upon having a logical, disinterested approach to matters of fact.

"Have you assembled all the evidence and looked at it before reaching that conclusion, Anthony Goldstein? Or is it merely what you wish to believe?" The centaur surveyed him mildly before adding, as the bell for the end of class rang, "The second part of your homework is that again ye select a familiar object, pay attention to it for ten minutes, and list your findings in your notebooks. Ye Daughters of Eve, ye Sons of Adam; fair parting." With a flowing sweep of his arm he indicated the door at the back of the classroom. It swung open with a creak, and the class poured out of it. Hermione, however, hung back. Harry and Ron noticed, and stayed with her.

"Hermione Granger?" A lift of Tarahin's eyebrow invited her to speak.

"Um. – I – I won't be coming to any more Divination classes, sir," she said, hesitantly but with determination. "I'm having extra Arithmancy instead."

"Even so. I understood from Minerva McGonagall that your attendance was voluntary and that it was only temporary." The centaur inclined his head in acceptance of that fact.

"I just wanted you to know that it's nothing personal, sir."

"I am sure that it is not, Hermione Granger." There was a faint curve at the corner of his mouth. It was as near to a smile as any of the students had seen him come.

"Parts of your lessons have actually been quite interesting. – If you see what I mean," she added hastily, aware that what had been intended as a compliment hadn't quite sounded that way.

"I take your meaning." The curve at the corner of his mouth became more pronounced.

"It's just this 'parting the veils of the future' stuff, and being doomed to die horribly because Mars and Venus were in opposition when you were born." Hermione ploughed on. "I think it's ridiculous, and I can't see any point in it."

"I tend to agree with you, Hermione Granger." Another inclination of his head.

She stared at him. "But it's your _subject!_ You're supposed to be teaching it," she said, with pardonable irritation.

"As Dolores Umbridge would no doubt remind you, I am not a professor as such. Therefore I do not have a 'subject'," he responded calmly, with a flick of his tail. "Albus Dumbledore asked of me that I attempt to make ye better fitted to divine your possible futures and to choose between them wisely. As a part of that attempt I seek first to establish ye firmly in your presents. The position at any given time of planets tens of millions of miles away seems to me to be highly unlikely to have any effect upon your futures; while at the other flank, your possessing greater awareness of the state of your minds is highly likely to have a bearing on them. Thus I choose to ignore the former and concentrate upon the latter. It is not, I grant you, Divination as your Ministry of Magic would recognize it. Butyet Albus Dumbledore seems to be of the opinion that it may be of more use to the students of Hogwarts than an examination certificate would be. Of course, it may be merely that he sees my presence here as performing the dual functions of filling a gap in the teaching staff and annoying officials at your Ministry of Magic, and that my teaching, such as it is, is unimportant. Such is a risk that I am willing to take. – I wish you well in your pursuit of Arithmancy, be it or nay. And in your determining your future, of course. A fair path to your hoofs."

"Thank you, sir." Hermione accepted the well-wishing with good grace.

"Sir?" Ron seized the opportunity to ask a question that had been nagging at him. "You know last lesson, when Professor Umbridge was there. If she'd agreed to – _you _know – when you suggested it, would you have – er – ?" At a loss for a polite expression, he stopped short.

"Ronald Weasley; when he invited me to teach here Albus Dumbledore was most specific about my not you-knowing with anyone at Hogwarts, be they staff, students, employees, or somebody named 'Mrs. Norris'," Tarahin said gravely, but with a glimmer of humour in his eyes. "The reputation of the Childer of the Forest had come to his attention. I have generally striven to observe the boundaries which he outlined, but on that one occasion it may be that my lusts overwhelmed my discretion."

"Or you might just have been trying to get rid of her, sir," suggested Harry. It seemed a more likely motivation.

The centaur's eyebrow lifted fractionally. "That is another possibility, Harry Potter. Butyet I remind you of the examples which Dean Thomas set before the class. Is there aught in them which suggests to you that I would _not_ have you-knowed with her if she had consented to such?"

"Um. Not – not really, sir."

"There ye have it. 'One man's mate is another man's poison', as your sages put it."

"Er. That should be 'meat', sir," Harry corrected him.

"Even so? 'One man's mate is another man's meat' then. It sounds a little strange to my ears, but you humans have your own ways."

"No. I meant – never mind." Harry noticed that the curve had reappeared at the corner of the centaur's mouth again, and he guessed that Tarahin knew perfectly well what the correct saying was.

"Be it or nay. With regard to Dolores Umbridge and myself, I invite ye to weigh up the evidence and divine your own conclusions. – Ye should step, or ye shall be late for your next lessons."

"Right. We'll see you next time, sir. – Come on, Ron; Hermione."

"Ronald Weasley; Hermione Granger; Harry Potter." Tarahin named them, politely. He watched them hurry out of the room, and with a flick of his finger he magicked the door shut behind them. As it closed he allowed the curve at the corner of his mouth to develop into a grin. He chuckled.

"Tugging the tails of Two-leg foals!" he said to himself with a shake of his head. "I suppose I shouldn't. But there is some sport to be had from it!" He heaved a sigh of amusement that shook his flanks. Then he thrashed his tail, turned, and cantered off into the forest.


End file.
